


The Gang Destroys the Science Bitch

by WaldosAkimbo



Series: Charlie and The Scientist - A Study in Mutually Beneficial Affection [3]
Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blood, Gen, M/M, Ratings and tags may change, Violence, that seriously just needs to be a warning in and of itself, the gang is terrible, transphobic language, warning for Cricket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-06-13 06:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15358035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: The shouting escalated to threats, violence, and incoherent rage as the three pointed around, here, there, over there. The bar itself put into question. Because nobody. Goddamn nobody wanted to be left to do Charlie Work while Charlie was out…on a fucking vacation.----An attempt at character study for the Gang and shorter little drabble chapters as Charlie tries to go on Vacation with the Scientist.





	1. Chapter 1

_10:00 am —  On a Friday_

_Philadelphia, PA_

“Well, that’s the rub, isn’t it?” Dennis tipped his beer as he came to his conclusion, his eyebrows traveling up and down as the thought worked itself out of him. “You either accept that it’s constantly evolving, or you get bogged down by your circumstances.”

“Yeah, but….” Mac looked down, trying to slide the conversation into the direction he wanted instead of barreling in head first like a man. Like a goddamn man. Like a goddamn man who knew how to maintain eye contact. “Then you still have to admit that evolution is even a thing.”

“It is,” Dennis cut in sharply before taking a sip.

“Well….”

“Oh, god damnit.”

“I’m just saying.”

Mac leaned heavily on the bar, distracted for a moment at the flex in his own stupid exposed biceps. He blinked and the little doofy smile slipped off his face. Which was good, because Dennis was feeling a little extra punchy today.

“I got everyone on the fence. If you give me five minutes—”

“I will not give you five minutes,” said Dennis into the neck of his beer bottle.

“—I could run through the arguments again.”

“See, that supposes that your arguments were correct.” Dennis looked down at Mac in the only way Dennis could and still look so goddamn crazy good doing it. Emphasis on crazy. Leaning towards homicidal. He just wasn’t feeling it today, though, so. And Mac could tell he wasn’t feeling it because he was, at best, cranky. Worse would be if he started spouting in that weird, slightly Viking way he did when he was just really pissed. Mac decided to forgive and forget. “Which they totally were not.”

“They totally were, dude. Look—”

“Oh my god.”

“—it’s not that hard.”

“Oh my _God_.”

“—When you get all the big names in it, right? You’ve got—”

“Oh. My. God!”

Dennis shouted like a bullet. Nobody seemed to care. None of the regulars so much as shifted, like cardboard cutouts in the backdrop of their sordid affairs. It didn’t slow down Mac, who was laying out his thoughts at the bar. He turned his head in time to catch Dee creeping up like a bird of prey, swinging an expensive bag she couldn’t afford.

“Hey, guys.” She earned an informal head bob at best. Dennis was still steaming, so Dee focused her attention on her brother. “What’s got you bunched up in the balls?”

“How to get rid of the Science Bitch,” Dennis and Mac said at the same time.

 

**_The Gang Destroys The Science Bitch_ **

****

“Whoa, wait, what?” Dee set down the bag, tossing straw hair off her shoulder. “I thought we liked Science Bitch.”

“We don’t,” said Dennis firmly.

“We don’t,” said Mac less firmly, even though he was the one presenting the argument in the first place.

“Well, kinda though, right? He got Charlie, like, cleaning himself and shit. He doesn’t smell like cheese…as much.”

Mac turned his pouty face back to Dennis, worrying two fingers together. “See, I told you, Dennis. I told you.”

“You told me? You didn’t tell me. You wanted to get rid of the Science Bitch _way_ more than I did!” Dennis laughed mirthlessly, taking another large gulp of beer. He was rounding out to an even four now, the empties lined up in front of him. It wasn’t taking the edge off half as well as he would have liked. “And I agree. We should totally get rid of him. He’s ruining everything for us.”

“Like what?” Dee asked, unconvinced. Yet. Dennis would get her on his side, mark his words.

“He’s ruining Charlie, for one. What did Frank say about him, hmm?”

“That he’s currently the reigning champion of _Nightcrawlers_?” Dee asked, a little skeptical, waving one of her giant claws to have Dennis get to his point faster, like she had somewhere to be or something. Like she didn’t just step up to them at the bar, interrupting their little back and forth, begging for scraps of attention. What a needy bitch. _God_ , the beer wasn’t working. Dennis shook his head, pouring a shot for himself.

“No,” Dennis answered and downed the shot, tilting his head to the side as he poured a second.

“Oh, that we gotta stop Charlie from taking more of his blood to go get tested?” Mac asked helpfully.

“What? No. This is about…never mind.” Dennis put a knuckle to his forehead. “Jesus _Christ_. No.”

“That—”

“ _No_ ,” Dennis said firmly and set the bottle of whiskey down. “He’s our _foundation_ , guys. Frank said that Charlie there is our _foundation_. And where does a foundation belong?” Before Mac could incorrectly state “at the top,” Dennis pointed a finger close to his face, right in striking distance. “He’s gotta be at the bottom. Keep things steady. Keep things neat…. Look, it gets bad enough around here just, like, regularly, but we’ve got, you know, the ‘Thing’ coming up and I don’t know about you, but I want this place ship shape before it happens, so we can just skate on by until it’s over.”

“Thing? What Thing?” Dee asked, reached across the bar for a beer for herself. When the two didn’t answer, she looked between them. “Guys? What Thing?”

“Forget it, Dee,” Dennis said, rolling his shoulder to block her out.

“No, c’mon, what Thing? There’s a Thing? Tell me about the Thing, guys.” Dee practically squawked, setting her bag down on the bar. “Mac? What’s the Thing?”

“The, y’know. The Thing,” Mac said, pushing two fingers together again as he glanced sidelong over at Dennis. He mouthed _does she know about the Thing_?

“No, she doesn’t know about the ‘Thing.’ Goddamnit, dude, shut up about the ‘Thing,’ okay? We have more important shit.”

“Okay, but how can I help, right, if I don’t know about the Thing? Right? What’s the Thing?” Dee knocked her knuckles on the counter like some incessant Jehovah’s witness knocking at the door. “What’s the Thing, guys? C’mon, spill the beans. Huh?”

“Holy shit, dude.” Dennis pinched his nose, turning away more. This day could not possibly get any worse than it had. “I’m gonna lose my goddamn shit.”

“Don’t lose your shit, Dennis,” Mac said, pushing Dee’s hand away from the bar and handing her a bottle to keep her occupied. “We still have to stop this before it gets started.”

“Okay, but, stop what?” Dee asked, and Dennis took his shot glass, downed it, and almost smashed it flat against the bar.

Mac did that little weird, slightly mopey look back and forth between Dee and Dennis before he butted in with, “Charlie’s going on vacation.”

A drop of silence as they took in the gravity of the statement. Dee slowly sipped her beer, wearing a similar expression as her twin.

“I thought—”

“Yep.”

“But, I mean, _we’re_ not—”

“ _Yep_.”

“So…who’s he—”

“You know who, Dee.”

Another beat. Another little ticking, churning moment, and then her eyes opened wide as she looked around them, realizing what was likely going to play out.

“No. No no no. No! No, I’m not—”

“Exactly!”

“If you don’t think—”

The shouting escalated to threats, violence, and incoherent rage as the three pointed around, here, there, over there. The bar itself put into question. Because nobody. Goddamn _nobody_ wanted to be left to do Charlie Work while Charlie was out…on a fucking _vacation_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank could only identify that smile with one thing. A total sap. A rube. A mark. An idiot. And Charlie was all those things, but he was Frank’s idiot and Frank needed him.
> 
> \---
> 
> Charlie packs for a weekend trip with the Doc and Frank tries to stop him.

“Okay, but, why’re you even going, Charlie?” Frank was taking Charlie’s clothes out of the borrowed duffel bag and tossing them back onto the bed while staring up at him.

“I don’t know, dude. I…Frank, I _just_ folded that, okay? Like, I _just_ got the stupid creases to line up.”

Charlie grabbed the nearest shirt and went back to folding it, laying it out and making sure it was a neat little square before he rolled it up into a tight swirl and tucked it back into his bag. He blocked Frank from grabbing it again as he plucked up the next shirt. Doc said he only needed enough for the weekend, but he was pretty sure he should pack, like, all of his shirts. Just in case. Accidents happened, and Charlie didn’t want to have to worry about buying another shirt somewhere that wasn’t Philly. What if they had itchy cloth? What if they didn’t have his size? What if it just looked weird? Spend money on shitty, weird, ill-fitting clothes? When he didn’t have his sewing machine to modify it? Yeah, no way.

“Well, what am I gonna do while you’re gone?”

“What do you do whenever you kick me out of the apartment?” Charlie asked with a little smile, his eyebrows creased down in thought. He kept out the green army jacket because that was the most comfortable. He wanted to be comfortable for the trip. He wanted to feel safe. He wanted to feel like he was definitely in control and maybe then his hands wouldn’t get so sweaty and he could hold Doc’s hand during the flight and they could read up on alligators like they said they would. “Invite Artemis over. Go to the strip club. I literally? Do _not_ care, Frank. It’s your weekend as much as it’s mine, okay?”

“Yeah, but, Charlie.” Frank was trying to sound reasonable, but it just sorta came out whiny, which it always did when he wasn’t getting his way. “How’m I supposed to sleep without you here?”

“Artemis. Strip club. There’s glue under the sink. Anything. I don’t know…go to the bridge. I don’t know, okay? Who’s here when I’m over at Doc’s place? Go do that. Can I pack? Can I pack my stuff?”

“I don’t like this Doc guy, Charlie,” Frank said for the umpteenth time, only to get Charlie to roll his eyes. “He’s doing bad shit to you. I’m pretty sure he’s just changing you for some scheme, y’know? Nobody makes people change for good, do they?”

“Yeah, well,” was Charlie’s best argument, keeping his head down as he folded up the tattered short shorts and slipped them in amongst the rest of his items—seven daytime shirts, three pairs of jeans, a pair of board shorts, seven socks total, ten pairs of underwear, black zip-up, gray sweater, sleeping thermal underwear, sleeping shirt with fiery mustang on it, lawyer shirt for a fancy outing, tie for the same event, and the corduroy jacket. He couldn’t fit in the fancy suit that Frank had tailored for him but decided that was alright. “Some people care, Frank.”

“I care,” Frank said and blinked huge owly eyes behind his thick frames. The same frames that were almost absolutely in need of a prescription change, but that was something to deal with when Charlie came back. “You think I don’t care?”

“I think you do, but…just…. Stop trying to take my shoes out. Please?”

Charlie yanked the pair of shoes out of Frank’s hand and stuffed them into the strained lining of the duffle bag, throwing his weight over the top of it to get it to zip shut.

“I don’t like this, Charlie,” Frank said again, folding his long arms across his chest. “I don’t like this.”

“I know you don’t, man, okay? But it’s our first time going on a vacation together and I really wanna go with him. Like. I don’t even wanna be chloroformed before we go to the airport or anything. I am clear as, you know, stuff. For this. So. Don’t flush anything down the toilet till I get back. I can’t keep fetching your shoes out for you and all that and if you break it, _you_ have to deal with it this time.”

“How long are you going?” Frank asked, pursing his thin lips together.

“I said already.” The zipper finally closed around the bulge of the duffel and Charlie sighed, dropping his head to the musty mattress with a grateful sigh. “There. Christ.” He looked up and smiled at Frank. “Dude, it’s totally gonna be fine. You’re not even gonna notice. I’ll be back on Sunday.”

“Not unless he feeds you to those alligators down there.”

“Doc’s not gonna feed me to the alligators,” Charlie answered again with that little extra smile he always seemed to carry around for this Doc guy. Frank could only identify that smile with one thing. A total sap. A rube. A mark. An idiot. And Charlie was all those things, but he was Frank’s idiot and Frank needed him.

“He might.”

“Yeah, maybe. If he gets really sick of me. But I don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

“Why? Cause he treats you to nerd shit and helped you get all clean and shit? Cause he’s nice to you? I’m plenty nice.”

“You’re something, Frank,” Charlie said, the smile fading, replaced with a look somewhere between hurt and anger. Hanger. No, not that. Charlie pinched his lips together and breathed out through his nose, hoisting the bag up onto his shoulder. “Look, I’ll be back Sunday. Like I said. I gotta get to the bar, man. Dennis said I can’t go unless I finish my shift and make sure everything’s ready and then I’m meeting Doc and we’re headed to the airport, okay?”

“Oh, right, so you’ll listen to Dennis, but you won’t listen to your old pal Frank.”

“You’re just gonna come down to the bar too.” Charlie’s voice was starting to pitch up in his annoyance and the strap on his shoulder was starting to dig in. He shifted his weight, one foot to the other, in his only other pair of shoes, which were even worse tennis than the ones he had in the duffel bag. “So, like, keep on arguing if you want, but just do it while on the move, man, because I wanna get my shit done before Doc shows up.”

“Why? So he doesn’t see you in your elements? Think he’s too good to see you scrubbing the john or patching the glory hole cover or taking care of the rats?”

“No, Frank, Christ. He already knows what I do. He is well aware, dude, like…. Look, either walk with me or walk behind me, because I’m going. I’m headed out.” Charlie went out into the hallway, hunched over to carry the weight of his bag. “Lock the door behind you, Frank!”

“Oh, now I’m locking doors?”

“Or, whatever! I don’t care!” Charlie yelled, already well on his way to the stairwell.

“Now he’s got me locking doors,” Frank grumbled to himself, fishing around his pocket. “He _is_ putting on heirs, no two ways about it. This Doc guy’s got him all twisted up. And there’s only one thing that’s gonna take care of Charlie at this point and that’s gonna be me.”

Frank almost tripped over one of the bums stretched out near the baseboard by their door, sleeping in his own filth.

“Sorry, Douglas,” Frank muttered and put a dollar bill in Douglas’s slightly sticky coffee cup. Frank would take all the change out of Douglas’s cup when he came home that night, as per usual. He wiped his hand down the front of his stained shirt and waddled after Charlie, still muttering to himself. “We gotta get rid of the Doc.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was like herding a goddamn bull through the china shop. Mac juked with the bag, went for the door, only to stumble backwards and nearly send him and Dennis to the floor. He gripped Mac’s arm hard, ready to shout at him, when he caught the figure in the doorway.
> 
> “Oh shit,” he hissed.
> 
> \---
> 
> The Gang are making their moves to stop the Science Bitch from...whatever he was doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't decide when this takes place, and whether or not Mac is fully out yet, so, just know...I never have any idea what I'm doing, honestly.

When Charlie showed up for his shift, he greeted the gang at the bar and kept walking, stashing his duffel in the back office. Dennis, Dee, and Mac all watched him walk by, their heads tracking his movements like cats to a small rat toy on a string. The door didn’t even click shut when they huddled together.

“So, first things first—”

“We’re stealing the bag, right?” Mac asked and Dennis clenched his jaw tight as he slid his eyes towards Mac for interrupting.

“Where the hell are we putting his bag where he won’t find?” Dee asked, her voice screeching through her whisper. “Vents? Charlie knows them. Garbage pile? Charlie knows it. Basement? Charlie—”

“Yeah, obviously not at the bar, sis,” Dennis answered. “Somebody’s gotta drive it off the property.”

“Oh! I can do that!” Mac raised his hand excitedly and Dennis quickly pushed his hand back down.

“Fine, take Dee’s car.”

“No, what? Don’t take my car. Screw you, Dennis. If anyone is taking my car, it’s me,” Dee shot back.

“You can’t go because you have to help me stop Science Bitch,” Dennis said, tapping the perpetually tacky bar twice with his index finger. “You see, Deandra, we have to use—”

But Charlie had come back out from the back office with a separate backpack. His notorious “fix-it” bag that he only dragged out for health inspections and when he wanted to do a quick job. Usually before health inspections. In fact, it was kinda odd that he bothered with it at all. He smiled at them, ignoring their hunched shoulders and conspiratorial gaze.

“Hey, guys,” he said again, swinging the bag up higher on his shoulder.

“Hey, Charlie,” said Mac.

“Yeah, hey man,” said the Reynolds siblings.

“I’m gonna go get the basement ready and then should just be garbage and bathroom and I’m outta here. Sound good?”

“Sounds good,” they answered back, with various waves and head bobs of approval. Charlie nodded and hoisted his bag up again as he went for the stairs down to the basement. He grabbed up the bashing stick on his way, waiting in the corner for him with little bits of rat blood and old matted fur on the ends of the nails.

“Okay.” Dennis left the bar first, pushing Mac on towards the back office. “He’s got the stick, so we have anywhere from ten to forty minutes where he’s busy with…that.”

“That” of course being the act of, uh, attempting to annihilate just a shit ton of rats. One had to wonder if they were feeding the creatures for them to flock to their humble bar. If perhaps extra cheese had found its way into the basement and the walls and the vents. If a certain Rat King wasn’t bringing them in and yet still destroying them? Sick bastard. And this coming from a certifiable sick bastard, honestly. While it should disturb him, it only made Dennis feel a connection with the little dirtgrub. They were friends for a reason and this just cemented that in his book. Dennis thought about going down into said basement a few times to check on things but decided that was a hard pass and left Charlie to do what Charlie did best.

The two stumbled into the office and scooped up Charlie’s duffel—who’s duffel was this? It didn’t actually _belong_ to Charlie. It was, for lack of a better term, _nice_. The straps were all together. There wasn’t any duct tape. The zipper _worked_. Who the hell was letting Charlie borrow ohhh no, that’s right. Fucking Science Bitch.

“And he’s a goddamn Bruins fan?” Dennis asked, picking up the stuffed duffel from the old office chair. He chucked it towards Mac, who caught it and turned the thing over to see the offensive logo. “Okay, if I wasn’t _perfectly clear_ before….”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Mac said, scowling at the black and gold “B.”

“Yeah. He’s gone, right?”

“Right.”

“And you’re gone, right?”

“Wait, I’m what?”

Dennis rolled his eyes so far into his head, it hurt. He pushed on Mac’s bare forearm, digging his fingertips into the warm skin. “Go. Go go go,” he said, his voice picking up. “Go get Dee’s car and ditch this thing.”

“Okay!” Mac shot back, exasperated as he was pushed along by Dennis’s hard, needle-thin fingers. Jesus, the guy had knives for hands. “Okay, but…” He dug in his heels, shifting his arm to stop getting poked. “Where am I taking this? Like, for real? Because I’m, like, 90% sure this is literally all of Charlie’s clothes.”

“Oh, no doubt.” Dennis eyed the little parcel, the fucking _Bruins_ duffel bag— _yeugch_ —in Mac’s dumb meaty dumb hands. “I dunno, dude. You take it back to his apartment? No, wait, better yet!” He punched forward and got another jab into Mac’s arm, a little final hit. “Take it back home. Yeah. We’ll keep it for him, safe and sound, and when he’s all blown up over this, we’ll just discreetly kidnap him, bring him to the apartment, and he can have a sleepover to smooth shit out. Cause this isn’t vindictive, Mac.”

“No?”

“Oh, no. No. We don’t hate the guy. We’re doing this for his own good. We’re doing this to save Charlie, dude.”

“Yeah,” Mac said slowly, looking at the duffel again, holding the thing so carefully, like it was a baby. Or a bomb. “Yeah. We’re saving him. Obviously.”

“Yeah! So, we _obviously_ wanna make him happy. And what better way to do that than some quality bonding time. You guys can get out your little sleeping bags and have your gay little sleeping arrangements and just—”

“Dude.” Mac winced, his shoulders sagging.

“Or whatever. Whatever, no judgement.”

“No, just. I kinda…damnit, I kinda had plans? To invite someone over—”

“Great. Gay orgy for you. Sweet.”

“No, dude. I’m—”

“Or _whatever_. Can you just go hide the bag? Please?”

Dennis started moving them out of the office, checking his phone. Mostly for any messages from anybody he’d last dangled a carrot in front of with promises to just continue neglecting them emotionally, as he had likely moved on to at that moment, and to make sure they weren’t running out of time with Charlie taking those rats down in the basement to task.

“Go. Apartment. You can put his bag on the couch and we’ll figure out how to do the whole sleepover thing later. We’ll rent a movie.” Mac opened his mouth to try and protest before Dennis shot, “Or whatever. Just _go_.”

It was like herding a goddamn bull through the china shop. Mac juked with the bag, went for the door, only to stumble backwards and nearly send him and Dennis to the floor. He gripped Mac’s arm hard, ready to shout at him, when he caught the figure in the doorway.

“Oh shit,” he hissed.

“It’s—”

“Shut up.” Dennis spun them both and shoved Mac. “Back door. Dee’s car. Apartment. Now.”

Mac nodded, his eyes wide as he peeked obviously over his shoulder—the dude’s peripheral was shit. His eyelids were downturned and he just…but! He was scurrying out the back door with Charlie’s bag safely tucked in his arms.

“Dee?” Dennis called, almost a sing-song note in his voice. “Sis?”

“Yeah, Dennis, wha—oh!” She came out of the lady’s bathroom and almost crashed into the man in the doorway. “Heeeeeey, uh—”

Dee snapped her fingers, which Dennis noticed were painted a garish red for some inexplicable reason. Probably to go with the red top that hugged her figure—gross—and the red shoes. Why in the _hell_ was she wearing this? When did she have time to change half her outfit? _Why_ had she changed half her outfit? Was this her pick-up outfit? Oh, Jesus, Dee. God damnit.

“Yes, hello, Ms. Reynolds,” said the Science Bitch, grabbing a hold of Dee’s arm so she didn’t lose her balance. He grinned, taking a step back after he was certain she wasn’t going to fall. He was looking around the bar, eyes stopping on Dennis for a second. “Is Charlie around?”

Ah, well. So, the game begins.

Dennis smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dun dun DUUUUUUUN


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Usually Mac was the one grabbing people for them, but Dennis was the genius who sent their bouncer out to go hide Charlie’s stupid duffel bag. So, it was up to the same stupid genius to come around the bar and grab up Science Bitch, covering his mouth as they made their way to the back office. Dee rolled her eyes, watching the two fight and squirm.  
> \----  
> Things do not go well for Gang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man so sorry for the extended delay on this! We're getting back into this and things are escalating. An attempt to look at things from Dee's perspective for a change! You know, in honor of The Gang Beat's Boggs: Ladies Reboot.

There is no doubt that Dennis is going to royally fuck this up.

“Charlie? Oh,” Dee answered, drawing the sound out as she squinted, thinking back to where dear old Charlie might be. _Definitely_ not locked up in the basement—which, fine, maybe they shouldn’t do that as often as they had, but it was a solid plan. Worked nine times outta ten. Why bust a perfectly good thing? Right. Dee licked her lip, batting her eyes and ignoring Dennis glaring _daggers_ at her from behind Science Bitch’s back. “You know what? I haven’t seen him yet. Were you supposed to meet him here?”

Science Bitch pulled back, removing himself with a step. So, naturally, Dee followed, closing the gap. He stepped again. This was almost honestly a dance, which Dee could totally wrap head around. Honestly, body movement was one of the big things to make a successful actress stand out. _And_ , listening to this whiny bitch talk would really cement her _impeccable_ British accent. She must have twisted her face at the thought, because Dennis made another threatening gesture from the bar, settling his hands when Science Bitch turned to look at him.

“We were. I’m afraid we’re on a bit of a schedule.”

 _Shhed-jewel. Shed-jewel. Schedule._ No, yeah, Dee was going to nail this accent for sure.

“Yeah, _bummer_ ,” Dee said, squinting in sympathy. She reached out and grabbed his arm, squeezing it. Science Bitch actually flinched and Dee had to swallow calling him a double bitch for being, uh, pretty bitchy. Her grip wasn’t _that_ strong.

“Yeah,” Dennis said, cutting in, his hand flapping like a spazz to get her attention. They both turned towards him. Science Bitch was being a total boner as he stepped away from her _again_. She followed him easy enough. “Uh, hi. Yeah. No, uh, I’m sure they’re on their way.”

“Who—”

“Yeah, Frank and Charlie,” Dennis said, tapping the bar to get them to come over and sit down. Sit down? Why would they want to sit down? They needed to get Science Bitch to leave and Dee was totally going to make that happen. Just as soon as Frank showed up. And, because Charlie was here, she knew Frank was close behind.

“Ah. Of course. Frank,” Science Bitch said, his voice digging into this real sweet low register, like he had some beef with Frank. Look, points to Science Bitch, because Frank sucks, but Dee wasn’t going to be distracted by this. Oh no. She was going to beat the guys at this game for sure. “And you said they wouldn’t be long?”

“No, man,” Dennis said, his voice a little breathy as he tried to keep it together, still tapping the bar. _Sit down_ , his weird Dennis Morse Code was saying. _Sit down. Sit down, do what I say. Come on. Sit down_. “No. They live close by. They—”

Frank walked in with damn near impeccable timing, swinging his arms with his gross overconfident gait.

“Hey, gang, I need—”

It’s not that Paddy’s isn’t, like, exceptionally lit during the day. And, of course, floodlamps really do make a better lighting to soften Dee’s features when she has to be up at the bar, let’s not even pretend they don’t, but! During the daytime, it’s lit up _enough_. Enough that anybody else would clearly see Dee, Dennis, and Science Bitch posted up at the bar, holding one scrawny ass British dude hostage. Barely. But still. And, semantics aside, he was only being held hostage because if they were going to get rid of him and save Charlie for themselves—and because the guy didn’t need to be taken advantage of and probably other reasons that didn’t involve Charlie Work, probably—they had to scare the shit out of him. Maybe literally. They had to make it so he would never want to come back. Break off ties with Charlie to save himself. It was for their own good and Frank, goddamn _Frank_ , was going to help.

Just.

Took a while for him to get there.

“Oh, whoa, hold up!” Frank yelled, flailing his arms up, turning on his loafers and reaching for his waistband.

 _There we go_. Dee tightened her grip, just a little, to keep Science Bitch in his place as Frank whipped out his pistol and got an errant shot off in the ceiling. Because goddamn of course goddamn Frank’s gun is loaded. When is it ever _not_ loaded. The man is an animal, but, hey, Dee knew this would help. Plus, it sorta kept Dennis from launching into whatever sadomasochist plan he probably had cooking. Psychological torture, maybe. Probably. No, this was better.

Science Bitch yelled. Dennis yelled two, complaining about putting bullets in the bar and potentially shooting one of them like the time they had accidentally shot Charlie. Dee yelled because the others were yelling, but, to be honest? She was sort’ve numb to this. Yeah, fine, they had to reach and knock his wrist up towards the ceiling because he panicked and might shoot one of them. Dennis’s concerns were real. But, y’know, facing this day in and day out for years and years and years had rubbed down that little part of her brain that sang alarm bells. Which, honestly, made her better than the guys because she didn’t get bogged down with—

“That was my head!” Dee screamed, jerking away as the second shot zinged over the top of them. It missed. It missed. Dee let go of Science Bitch to check, touching the side of her head as Dennis launched half his body over the bar and grabbed Frank’s arm, holding his hand and the gun up towards the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, Frank! That was basically my head!”

“Well it was next to the Science Bitch!” Frank yelled back.

“You _people_!” Science Bitch had tripped away, knocking the bar stool over in his hasty retreat. He was cowering low, hands raised to protect himself, like a hand could stop a bullet. Jeeze, for a Science Bitch, he was sort’ve stupid. Cute, in a weird nerdy way, but stupid. “What on _Earth_ do you hope to accomplish with that, Mr. Reynolds?”

“Getchu outta the bar, for one,” Frank answered, trying to jab the gun towards Science Bitch again.

“No, no! No, we’re not….” Dennis struggled before he got the gun out of Frank’s grip, shouting victoriously. “Aha! You can have this back at the end of the day, Frank.”

“Hey! I need that!”

Dennis clenched his jaw, pursing his lips in and out. He set the gun behind the bar, releasing Frank’s hand. Dee had a moment of strange déjà vu, seeing Dennis over Frank like that, the look of a man who was ready to backhand the other. Course, the roles were reversed back then, little Dennis having something taken away and Frank not exactly _towering_ over him, but raising his hand to his son. Well, okay, not his son. God, childhoods are stupid and pathetic. Dee blinked her eyes in annoyance, turning her attention back to Science Bitch.

“You should go,” Dee said, sounding sweet and placating. “This place really isn’t safe for you, you know? You should probably sneak out the back and just get outta here, guy, you know?”

“Where’s Charlie?” Science Bitch asked, already catching his breath.

“What? No. No, forget him. You should leave.” Dee stepped closer and, again, this stupid Science Bitch stepped away from her. Like he was afraid of _her_ when _Frank_ had pulled a gun on him. “Listen. Hey, it’s fine. It’s totally fine. Look, let’s just step outside, huh?”

“Ms. Reynolds, please stop trying to get near me and just tell me where Charlie is,” Science Bitch said, standing taller. The balls on this guy, seriously.

“You do know that Frank is Charlie’s roommate, right?”

“And likely father, I’ve come to discover,” Science Bitch answered.

“Whoa, hey, whoa.” Frank waved his arms, squinting at the floor. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, alright? Charlie’s mother was a whore, and—”

“Well, yeah, probably,” Dee said.

“Deandra, don’t you—”

“Oh god, Frank, shut up? Okay? We’re trying to—”

“There’s no evidence that Charlie’s _my_ —”

“—how is this getting him away from Ch—”

“Hey!” Dennis barked above them, slapping the bar top. They looked over at him, expecting something, be it reprimand or otherwise, but Dennis was staring over at the pool table, pointing his thin finger at the floor. “We didn’t get that patched up from the last time he got out, did we?”

“What?”

They turned to see the loose tile in the floor, half-expecting to see Charlie wriggling out of it like some gremlin. He wasn’t, but his escape route was plain as day.

“Are you people telling me you’ve locked him up in your basement again?” Science Bitch asked, doing a real bang up job looking pissed. “Are you all _insane_?”

“Hey, okay, judgy much?” Dee asked, laughing over at Dennis and Frank. They didn’t find it amusing, and she scowled at them a second. Science Bitch briefly touched his face.

“No, of course. Bloody Christ, this is why I wanted to meet…Charlie? Charlie! Can you come up—”

Usually Mac was the one grabbing people for them, but Dennis was the genius who sent their bouncer out to go hide Charlie’s stupid duffel bag. So, it was up to the same stupid genius to come around the bar and grab up Science Bitch, covering his mouth as they made their way to the back office. Dee rolled her eyes, watching the two fight and squirm.

See? This is why Dennis shouldn’t be in charge of anything. Because now she had to go get the duct tape and the rolling chair and this was a huge goddamn mess that she wanted to avoid by just scaring this stupid Science Bitch out of the bar! Easy!

“Goddamnit, Dennis,” Dee muttered.

“Shut up, Dee? Okay? _Okay_?”

“Okay, Jesus!”

“Oka—ow, stop that. Stop it!” Science Bitch jabbed again as they basically fell into the office. “Don’t bite. Biting isn’t _allowed_. Dude, stop!”

Frank waddled over to the pool table and kicked the tile back into place. At least he could get that right. God, so stupid. Boys are so stupid. Dee rolled her eyes as they duct taped him to the chair.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re literally not making any sense. You’re just being vulgar. You’re just saying shit and, honestly? Honestly, you shouldn’t be saying anything because I’m just taking you to the park because it’s on the way and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t rub all your weird Rickety Cricket shit on my shit and also? Dude? Also?” Mac grabbed the duffel bag and tossed it into the back seat. “Don’t touch that. That’s not yours.”
> 
> “Yeah?” Cricket smiled a broken, punched-out-windows sorta smile. “And this isn’t your car, buddy. So.”  
> \-----  
> Mac takes Charlie's duffel bag away from the bar and picks up a hitchhiker along the way.

“This is messed up.”

Mac wrung the steering wheel, hunching up a shoulder. He felt tense. Head to toes tense. Not the fun kinda tense of getting away with something he felt like he was a part of or at least fully agreed to—he _had_ agreed to this—but just that desperate tension he got for general Bad Stuff. Something he understood to be physical repercussion for his sins, obviously. Good ol’ Christian Guilt. Something he was almost comfortable with just from, like, life, but that’s not how that worked. He was uncomfortable. He was _comfortably_ uncomfortable. He should go to confession soon. It had been a painfully long time, mostly because he wasn’t sure he’d be allowed in with all these weird new thoughts and stuff, and maybe, _maybe_ that was why he brought his “friend.”

Gross, don’t call him “friend.”

Charity Case.

“Whadya mean?”

“I mean, it’s messed up,” Mac answered again, motioning around the car. “This. Doing this to Charlie. Like, yeah, we’re trying to help him. But. Like. Listen, shut up. It’s just messed up, okay? That’s it.”

“Well, that’s the bitch of it, right?” Cricked asked with a sniffle as he dug around Charlie’s bag.

“What?”

“That’s the dick and balls of the game. There. _That_ analogy work for you?”

“No!” Mac flinched, leaning further away from Cricket. “Dude, that makes even less sense.”

“You still gay for free or what, man? Honestly.”

“For free, you weird….”

“Whatever floats your dick.”

“You’re literally not making any sense. You’re just being vulgar. You’re just saying shit and, honestly? Honestly, you shouldn’t be saying anything because I’m just taking you to the park because it’s on the way and I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t rub all your weird Rickety Cricket shit on _my_ shit and also? Dude? Also?” Mac grabbed the duffel bag and tossed it into the back seat. “Don’t touch that. That’s not yours.”

“Yeah?” Cricket smiled a broken, punched-out-windows-looking smile. “And this isn’t your car, buddy. So.”

“What?”

“Oh yeah. You think I couldn’t spot Dee’s new ride? You think I haven’t christened the tailpipe? You think I haven’t—”

“Oh my _God_ , dude! Stop!” Mac shrieked, wrinkling his nose. “Please! Jesus!”

Picking up Cricket had been a mistake. An accident, actually. Blind dumb luck for the dude.

Mac left the bar with Charlie’s stupid borrowed duffel bag, sneaking out the back to avoid the Science Bitch. It was the essence of optimizing speed and efficiency and also the stupid dumpster out back being two inches short of five feet from the door that made Mac almost barrel into it and the occupant along the way. Cricket was rummaging for something—scraps? Oh god, please be scraps—and popped up like a weasel.

“Hey! Where you running, big boy?”

“Fuck!”

“Can I get a lift?”

“Fuck!” Mac yelled again, rubbing his funny bone where he’d wanged it on the edge of the dumpster. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck _fuuuuck._ ”

He technically never said yes. Or no. Or anything besides “fuck” as he ducked and ran around the edge of the bar, keeping low, and slipping into Dee’s car. Cricket stayed right on his heels without question and took the passenger seat, grabbing up the duffel bag.

“Hey, you doin’ laundry or something?”

“ _Whoa_! Dude, what’re you—”

“I just need a ride to the park,” Cricket said quickly.

“What? I’m…I’m headed back to my place.”

“Oh yeah? No, I don’t wanna go there. Not unless you got ten bucks? Because, let me tell you, burning alive in _that_ shithole was—”

“Oh God, whatever, dude. Put on your seatbelt.”

Mac started the car and needlessly gunned it out of the parking spot, veering out onto a mostly empty street. Cricket unzipped the duffel bag and started rummaging without clicking on his seatbelt. He started humming some offbeat but oddly cheery tune to himself. After a couple minutes of silent driving and heavy breathing, Mac calmed down enough to pay attention to the awful smell and discreetly rolled down both windows, the passenger side stuck somewhere near Cricket’s ear. Cricket laughed in his face, milky eye turning up to him like some horrible abomination that looked into his soul as well as it looked into nothing.

“Yeah, that smell ain’t going away, man. You’re stuck with it. Dee’s gonna need a new car. And I’ll do to that one what I did to this one and that Fiat and the Honda and all the rest.” Cricket grinned to himself, snapping his fingers together. “Cause, you know, why not? Also, she ruined my life. So….”

“She didn’t ruin your life,” Mac said defensively, stuck at a red.

“Yeah. Maybe can’t give her all the blame. You guys had a pretty heavy hand in it too.”

“What?!”

“Oh, I’m over it, baby boy,” Cricket said, and Mac shifted again, eyes cast down.

“Don’t.”

Cricket didn’t even look over. He just nodded and popped open the glove box. There was an expired box of condoms, a pair of shoes, hairbrush, napkin wads, melted lipstick, and a few old and tired screenplays shoved inside. Cricket pulled out the lipstick and the flap for the passenger side mirror, deftly applying an incredibly competent line on his cracked lips. He popped them together and grinned again. It made him look like he had an open gash where his mouth should be, but he seemed pleased.

“I don’t think that’s your color,” Mac muttered.

“You got a peach blossom stain on you? No? Then shut up.” Cricket checked the corners and his few front teeth for any lipstick stains. “They don’t tell you this, but cops will be extra dicks to the tranny types, but sometimes you can get better food and some friendlier company in the park at night if you play your cards right.”

“Whoa, hey. Whoa. Tranny?”

“Oh, what? Sorry, Jesus, you fags with your—”

“ _Whoa!_ Okay, that’s discrimination. That’s discrimination! You—”

“Oh, alright, _Ronald_. Get off your high horse there.”

“Dude,” Mac said, shaking his head, visibly puffing up, a few veins popping out along his forearms as he gripped the steering wheel tighter. “You can’t say that shit. We don’t say that shit any more. You can’t say that shit! Seriously. God. You’re just the worst person ever, Cricket. You know that?”

“Eh. Maybe.” Cricket shrugged, recapping the lipstick and tossing it back into the glove compartment. “Maybe. But I know what I am and how I need to be. You know? I have lived, my man. I have lived through some serious shit your own nightmares are afraid to dream about, right? I know who I’m supposed to be. I don’t have time for this pussy-footed, lying to yourself, yadda yadda yadda bullshit. I could be dead tomorrow, if I’m lucky. God’s dead, fuck the pope, do yourself a line of coke. Ey! So, yeah. Excuse me for making myself up nice, y’know? What’re you doing, muscle brains? Huh? What’s up with you and the twink?”

“What twink?” Mac asked instead of telling Cricket to shut up, like he really wanted to. Like his cheeks weren’t bright red and he hoped Cricket was just stupid and stoned enough not to know.

 “You know, man. You want me to say it?” Cricket scratched an ugly sore on his neck. “You do, I can tell, but I hate giving you shit for free. You and the Reynolds, man, you guys are the worst. But, hey, I’m a man of few principles. Tell you what. Make it five bucks and I’ll—”

The second there was a green light, Mac stomped his foot down on the accelerator. They launched into the intersection, hoping to skid away from the terrible moment that was lingering back at the crosswalk behind them. Instead, it sent them into the front end of a Buick, which t-boned them going nothing less than 45 mph. Not crazy, but not good. Mac felt the familiar punch of his organs and spine protesting against the impact, his driver’s side crumbling in around him. Cricket smacked his head against the half-opened window, shattering it spectacularly. When they skidded to a halt, Mac just breathed, wondering if he was dead or not. His body hurt like hell, sure, so that was probably a good sign. His head wasn’t as fuzzy as that time he drove his car into a brick wall. It felt kinda melty, too fried from the sudden shock to get really messed up yet.

“Cricket?” he groaned, barely aware of steam and a honking horn somewhere nearby.

“Still kickin’,” Cricket moaned back, like he was almost disappointed. He turned, squinting, a steady stream of blood coming from his nose and a goddamn chunk of glass sticking out of the side of his head like a bad imitation of an antler.

“Jesus Christ, dude!” Mac jerked back in his seat.

“What? Is it bad?”

“It’s bad. It’s so fucking bad, dude,” Mac answered instantly. “We gotta go. We gotta—”

Cricket didn’t hesitate. He elbowed the fractured window, finally pulling the latch to the outside of the car and stumbled out onto a sidewalk. His hand ghosted the glass for a second, but it didn’t seem to slow him down as he picked himself up and took off running, a shambling gait of a decrepit zombie who had some goddamn legs. He was gone. He had left Mac.

“Shit, dude,” Mac said quietly, impressed still that Cricket could goddamn move. He blindly tried to push open his own door, but it was crumbled in place and someone was beginning to move in the old Buick that had t-boned them. There were sirens far off and Mac panicked again. He struggled undoing his seatbelt, cursing and praying and cursing again before he undid it and vaulted across to the passenger side and Cricket’s open door. He got out and was ready to run before he slipped into the backseat, grabbed Charlie’s duffel, and held it close to his chest. It was the dude’s only clothes. He was sure of it. He was so goddamn sure of it. He knew he couldn’t just leave it, even if it was a fucking Bruins bag.

 With Dee’s wrecked car left to the mercy of the wild and the Philly police department, Mac ran—staggered? God, his head hurt—back towards the only place that seemed safe after a car accident like that. He ran back towards the bar.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Uh huh,” Charlie answered, letting Mac lean on him as he walked them towards a stool. “Alright. Two seconds, man. You’re bleeding here.” He swiped his hand across the line of blood coming out of Mac’s ear and just as quickly wiped it off on Mac’s shirt. Whatever, it was his blood and he was going on vacation soon and Charlie had a sneaky suspicion Security would give him hell anyways, but having blood on his shirt would only add to that. Nope. He wiped it on Mac’s shirt. And that was fine. “Just sit still, okay? Jesus.”
> 
> Mac, struggling to catch his breath, rested his head heavily on the bar. Charlie wondered if he was going to pass out or not and was going to ask if he wanted to, like, try and go to the hospital or if he needed a drink when he spotted the duffel bag in Mac’s hands. He stood back, straightening his spine. Right. It clicked into place.  
> \----  
> Charlie comes back up from the basement to go with Doc to the airport to discover something a little fishy.

Charlie stood, stretching his arms high above his head, his shirt riding up to show off a sliver of hairy belly. He scratched it and shifted his hips, left and right, relieved when everything sort’ve cracked back into place. It felt good.

The garbage was all burned, the traps reset, and he’d taken time to rearrange all the paint cans, since he didn’t have a text or a shout down from Doc that it was time. Plus, working settled him. It made him…well, maybe not calm. Calm was definitely not right. But it made him better? Charlie just really wanted to be better. So, he worked quickly, efficiently, cleanly. Made all the collected junk look neat on the shelves. Made the garbage pile smaller. Made it better.

Charlie dusted his hands to survey his work. The place still looked like a murder dungeon shithole, but all basements sort’ve had that vibe if they didn’t have, like, drywall and carpet and shit. No, it was good. It looked really good. A few rats skittered across the floor and Charlie just watched them with a lazy, contented eye. One rat today means two in the bush, as the old saying goes. So, he grabbed his stick and went after it.

He couldn’t say how long he was down there. He should pay better attention, honestly, but he still had time. He was sure he had time. Doc would tell him. He trusted that.

There was some commotion going on upstairs, a weird little scuffle and a shout. It was just muffled enough that Charlie couldn’t hear the entirety of it and, hey, if nobody threw open the door to call him up, it wasn’t a big deal. He knew the gang could handle it without him. They’d have to handle themselves for three days while Doc took him down to Florida and they got to laze about on a beach and have some sunscreen and look at gators and probably kiss in their hotel, which was going to be super nice because they got to curl up in big blankets and not have to worry about washing them, and then he was going to have to put Aloe Vera on Doc’s neck and arms, cause he was going to burn, and they’d eat something fried and weird and laugh about it and he’d get a beer to wash away the weird taste and Doc would get a water and they’d share that too and it would be a lot of fun and it wouldn’t even be so scary leaving the state or the region or anything because they were going together. Doc chose Charlie to take on a vacation somewhere. Honestly. It was a little mind boggling, really.

So, Charlie let the gang take care of the loud shouting and he sat in a corner to have himself a little cry, a little cat-harness.

No, that wasn’t right.

Cat-thorstis.

Look, it was cat-something and he knew plenty of other big words, he didn’t need to impress anyone, he was just crying! It was just an activity! A thing! Charlie was definitely not screaming into his fists as he mentally barraged himself because it was not good to abuse yourself and this was about catharsis, so shut up!

He stopped screaming pretty quickly, if that meant anything.

Charlie expelled his brief and useless grief for the bashed rats. He pushed out his too-many-emotions about going on vacation and his so-much-happiness-for-Doc-it-almost-hurt sort’ve feelings. He let them all out into his sleeves so he’d be empty and clean and good. Doc said it was healthy to cry sometimes. And even if it was, which Charlie had decided he did sometimes feel better afterwards and sometimes he just had a headache, it was something to do alone. He wasn’t gonna let anybody _see_ and he figured, whatever, three minutes in a dark corner with nothing but the souls of the fallen trapped on the end of his bashing stick to bear witness or whatever. That was fine. That wasn’t, like, Mac’s stupid God or anything like that, it was just…it was comforting. It was fine. It was whatever. Charlie cried and then he got back up, wiping his face. Good as new, that’s what he was.

Back up the stairs, Charlie pushed the door open without any effort. He looked at the door locks and noticed the gang had twisted them, trying to lock him in. He laughed a little and flipped them back up—they were useless at this point. Decorative. He had been certain to take care of that a while ago, but it was interesting to guess why they’d tried to lock him down there _this_ time. He had to imagine it was Frank. Frank was freaked out that he was going. Of course he was. Charlie touched the door and ran his fingers across the electric tape over the latch before he bumped it shut with his hip.

Just in time for Mac to crash through the front door, panting hard, and stumbling nearly to his knees.

“Oh, hey, dude,” Charlie said casually. He stepped around the bar, depositing his nail-heavy club in the corner so he can grab Mac before he fell completely on his face. “Car accident?”

“Charlie? Holy shit, dude, holy shit. Cricket, and then we were just…and then this fucking Buick, but he was—”

“Uh huh,” Charlie answered, letting Mac lean on him as he walked them towards a stool. “Alright. Two seconds, man. You’re bleeding here.” He swiped his hand across the line of blood coming out of Mac’s ear and just as quickly wiped it off on Mac’s shirt. Whatever, it was _his_ blood and he was going on vacation soon and Charlie had a sneaky suspicion Security would give him hell _anyways_ , but having blood on his shirt would only add to that. Nope. He wiped it on Mac’s shirt. And that was fine. “Just sit still, okay? Jesus.”

Mac, struggling to catch his breath, rested his head heavily on the bar. Charlie wondered if he was going to pass out or not and was going to ask if he wanted to, like, try and go to the hospital or if he needed a drink when he spotted the duffel bag in Mac’s hands. He stood back, straightening his spine. Right. It clicked into place.

“Hey,” Charlie said and grabbed a cleanish rag. He started cleaning up Mac’s neck. “Did you guys lock me down in the basement?”

“Yeah?” Mac asked, flinching away before he realized Charlie was helping.

“Is Doc here?”

Mac looked around and shrugged.

“You guys trying to scare him off?”

Mac turned his hound-dog eyes down to the floor, hunching over in guilt.

“Uh-huh,” Charlie said again. “You took my bag and Dee’s car and you were going to take it to the apartment, so I’d have to follow you guys back, right? For a sleepover? And Doc’s probably in the back office getting a _talk_ from Dennis? Maybe Dee? Probably Frank too, right? And Frank pulled his gun and….” Charlie sighed, handing Mac the rag to clean himself up. “What the hell, Mac.”

“Hey, man, we did it for you,” Mac answered, shouting to hide his shame. “We’re just looking out for you!”

“Yeah, thanks,” Charlie said quietly, calmly, as he went to the back room and pushed it open with a bang. “Hey.”

It was a mild, contained chaos in the back office; nothing terribly strange but his heart still spiked at the sight of Doc taped down to a chair and a bandana shoved into his mouth. He spat it out easily, which should have been funny. Any other moment, Charlie would be chastising the group at being sloppy, that if they were going to gag someone, they had to tie it around the mouth too, even if Charlie didn’t want that for Doc at all. He sighed, ignoring bug eyes from the twins and some spluttering excuse from Frank.

“Charlie!” Doc yelled and his voice was big and round and full of all the concern he felt for Charlie’s well-being that, if he hadn’t had his cry time down in the basement, he would have gotten teary-eyed now. “Call the police. These _bastards_ have—”

“Hey!” Frank moved towards Charlie, arms braced to push him back out. “We’re taking care of this. You’re not supposed to even be here. Why’re you here? We’ve got this.”

“Frank, Jesus Christ,” Charlie muttered.

“No, this just looks bad because Dennis and Dee are—”

“Yeah?” Charlie asked, shouting over Frank. “They’re what? What’re they doing, Frank?”

Charlie scowled gently at Frank, who just groaned. Maybe he felt guilty too, but probably not. He watched Frank shrink and he knew, right then, he won. Frank hated feeling small or caught or anything and he was going to give up. Charlie and Frank would get over this pretty quickly if Frank would just _leave them alone._ Frank stepped aside, long arms raised, with a gruff, “Fine!” before he stepped out, giving up on them. Charlie was relieved that Frank saw such little worth in this, actually. That it was confusing and weird and beneath him was an advantage. Charlie let Frank go grouse and soothe himself with whatever the hell Frank found comfort in. Charlie continued pushing through the stunned Reynolds to crouch near Doc.

“Hey, sorry they’re bastards.”

“Charlie?” Dennis asked, startled into speak.

“Okay…. How’d you get outta—”

“You _gotta_ stop trying to lock me in the basement,” Charlie said, cutting off Dee. “First off. Cause it’s not gonna work and it’s just kinda sad now, Dee, if I’m honest? Kinda pathetic.” She bristled, but he ignored them, focused on Doc now. He looked at the duct tape around Doc’s wrists and winced. “Hey, sorry about all this. They’re idiots sometimes.”

“Uh, whoa, okay, this is so _not_ what it looks like?” Dee said, tossing the nearly empty duct tape roll away. “You don’t have the full story.”

“He figured it out,” Mac said, popping his head into the office, holding the splotchy red rag up to his nose. “All of it.”

“What?” Dennis huffed at the ceiling. “Well god damnit, okay. Well, Charlie—”

“Hey, give us space, dude,” Charlie said, digging a short fingernail under the edge of one of the strips of duct tape around Doc’s wrists. He looked up and rubbed Doc’s knee. “Sorry, man. Sorry if this hurts.”

“I don’t mind if you just get this off me,” Doc said, visibly calming now that Charlie was back. Charlie couldn’t imagine how keyed up he got when the gang pulled this shit stunt on him. “It’s alright. Just yank it. Rip it off.”

“I bet I’ve got some hydrocortisone cream around here,” Charlie said, even though he did not. He had a rag and a box of band-aids with little turtles on them and that Aloe Vera, but that was it. Was hydrocortisone cream even going to help? Maybe he should buy, like, Neosporin. Right? Maybe.

“That’s alright,” Doc said again, his chest fluttering weirdly. Charlie stared at it before he looked up and saw Doc’s face bright and shiny. He was laughing, but it seemed forced. Doc blinked and ducked his head away, brushing his cheek clean his shoulder. “Apologies. I—”

Charlie just reached up and wiped Doc’s cheek with his thumb, quick and comforting, before he went back to undoing the duct tape. He didn’t look up again as he said, “Hey, crying’s a good thing, right?”

Another little tremor, probably from nodding. Charlie assumed it was nodding and that was good. That was right. Charlie always smiled when he figured he got something right, even when he was supposed to be freeing and comforting Doc. It was good.

Doc had remarkably hairless wrists, thankfully, and he ripped the duct tape right off in a quick, clean stripe, rubbing his red skin. He said “sorry, sorry,” too many times, but it was better to get him free than anything. Another few strips and it was done.

Slim fingers snaked around Charlie’s face and soon he was wrapped up, confused but happy to hug Doc back. He rubbed Doc’s shoulder, up and down his spine, and tucked his face into that warm neck. He laughed when he felt Doc tug away to avoid a beard burn. Whatever, he loved it. Charlie knew he loved it. They laughed in various degrees of relief.

“Hey, man. We still got time to get to the airport?” Charlie asked quietly and, for whatever reason, Doc laughed harder.

*

There was a little jumble of turbulence, enough to shake Charlie awake. He felt Doc’s hand scoop into his own and squeeze it, bringing him out of his nap completely. He breathed deeply and hummed, squeezing Doc’s hand back.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

“I’m fine,” Doc answered, his voice a little shaky. “I hate this bit.”

“What?”

“Flying.”

Doc laughed, as though to apologize for his admission. Charlie turned to look at him fully, eyebrows crinkling until Doc kissed them smooth. Another jumble and Doc sank back into his seat, going white as a sheet. It was just a bump. Nothing crazy. Charlie could barely help it when he laughed too.

“Dude, you fly, like, _all_ the time.”

“I know,” Doc answered. He shook his head when Charlie offered him the beer can on his tray, something he ordered to help himself, but he decided as soon as it arrived that he was a-okay as is and let himself drift off with his cheek on Doc’s shoulder.

“Like for work and stuff.”

“I know,” Doc repeated.

“And you’re scared of it?”

“Not as badly as I used to be,” Doc answered. He rubbed Charlie’s hand, whining through a little rumbling underneath them and the seat-belt sign dinged back on. Charlie brought Doc’s hand up and kissed his knuckles after they stopped shaking, then turned it over and nuzzled against the faded red marks on his wrists. “Ah. Thank you, Charlie.”

“For what?”

“Being you,” Doc answered.

“Really?” Charlie beamed, holding Doc’s hand through another pocket of turbulence, ignoring it completely. They were already in the air, he wasn’t going to be able to do anything but ride it out. No, he just focused on Doc, holding his hand, resting his cheek back down on his bony shoulder. Not comfortable, but comforting. “I like you being you too,” he said, just in case that wasn’t clear. “You don’t have to put on any disguises for me.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“Sometimes we do that, right? With the gang? We—”

“Yes, _thank_ you, Charlie.”

Well, he was still pissed with the gang. And that was okay. They were back in Philly and Charlie and Doc were flying over the north of Florida, like twenty minutes from landing. So, three days would clear all that bad shit out and they’d be okay. Charlie trusted that as much as he trusted Doc.

Charlie laughed at the little squeak, way cuter than a mouse, just before the flight attendants alerted them how close they were to landing. There was nothing to see out the windows, just night sky and the lights of Orlando. He couldn’t even see the ocean at night, so it wasn’t worth it. Instead, Charlie kept his eyes closed as they made their way to their well-deserved vacation. Just the two of them. And that was kinda perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this little adventure and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
